Chapter 9: Clowns

"He smiled," Zelda said, "while you said no?"

"The whole time," Maxine said. "Like he was writing it down."

I took a fresh card and wrote EDMUND on it in capitals.

I didn't pin it yet.

A card on a wall is an accusation, and all I had was a smile.

[EDMUND???]

[no way. he's comic relief. he's the cousin who hits on everybody]

[the cousin is literally never in the poison chapters]

[that's exactly what I'd do if I were writing a twist]

The Gold Ballroom had been closed for eighteen months, and it showed.

Thursday afternoon there were still drop cloths over half the floor and a man on a lift polishing one angel on the ceiling.

But the chandeliers were up. Twelve of them, wrapped in plastic.

My troupe stood in the middle of all that gold in their street clothes, holding scripts.

"Places for the dinner scene," I called. "Twins, you're at table one. Hamlet, you're the colonel, you're at the bar. New kid, you're the waiter."

"I'm always the waiter."

"You're always the waiter because you're always the murderer. Nobody looks at the waiter."

He brightened.

Zelda lay down on the parquet with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I'm dead. Somebody notice me."

Hotel staff drifted in to watch. Two housekeepers. A bellman. A girl from the front desk with her phone out.

We were halfway through the second act when the doors opened.

Edmund came in with the general manager and a clipboard.

"Don't stop on my account," he called. "I love a dress rehearsal."

"It's not a dress rehearsal," I said. "Nobody's dressed."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

He handed me a sheet of paper.

The contract had a production budget. Six thousand dollars, for costumes, set, the effects.

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